


here’s to a better year

by boa_bec



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: ??? idk how 2 tag this hfhfh, Alcohol, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, New Years, could be platonic or romantic! u decide!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:40:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28417764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boa_bec/pseuds/boa_bec
Summary: it’s the first day of a new year. luckily, angel doesn’t have to spend it alone.
Relationships: Alastor & Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel)
Kudos: 31





	here’s to a better year

**Author's Note:**

> i know i havent posted anything on here in 3827818282 years so i am back with more radiodust!!!! 💖💖💖
> 
> today (12/29) is my friend angel’s birthday so i wrote this as a bday gift 4 him!!! angie if ur reading this ily happy bday boo 🥺💞💕💞💖

It was New Year’s Day.

The second the clock struck twelve, the sky opened up right before their eyes, and a swarm of angelic beasts retreated to the heavens. As saddened as Charlie had been by yet another full 24 hours of mass homicide, her main priority when the day had started was keeping the hotel’s residents safe. Thus, they’d spent the entire day cooped up in the Hazbin Hotel’s velvety walls -  _ they _ being Angel, the hotel staff, and the 80% of their guests that had retained enough common sense to not go outside.

A full day of sitting on his ass, nothing fun to do but fucking with anyone who’d give him the time of day, had taken its toll on Angel’s sanity. Charlie and Vaggie - especially Vaggie - were far too fond of  _ grounding _ him, so to speak; sometimes it seemed that the only way to keep the spider demon out of trouble was to keep him from running off with his girl buddy or getting high, so that’s what they did.

And Angel  _ hated _ it. This was what he’d signed up for, sure; he couldn’t  _ stand _ the way Vaggie fucking looked at him, whispering to Charlie  _ he’s a lost cause, hon. _ But that didn’t make the entire rehabilitation thing any more bearable, or the sudden lack of privacy and freedom and  _ being treated like a person to be feared rather than someone’s fucking pet project. _ Since his stay at the hotel had started, Angel was all too used to being trapped indoors, and that had made him all the more restless (and insufferable to everyone around him). The instant he learned the extermination was over, he was on his feet and out the door.

12:07 am. Angel found himself on the hotel roof, gloves fingers twitching around a phantom cigarette -  _ ‘no smoking’, _ pah. How was he supposed to cope with this ‘recovery’ bullshit? He was itching for a taste, for that familiar high. No, it was more than an itch, he mused. It was a burning, aching need. A deep-rooted feeling of hunger, the kind that persisted no matter how much he ate. The knowledge that no matter what he did, no matter what useless hobbies he picked up to fill the void inside him, no matter how many late nights he spent chatting and giggling with Cherri, he would never feel as truly alive as he did with dozens of substances running through him at once. Angel didn’t ‘want’ to be on drugs again. He  _ needed _ it.

_ Hhrg. _ He bit down on his lower lip a bit too hard, and as he wiped a droplet of blood away with his tongue the sharp taste brought him out of his thoughts. With a long, weary sigh, Ange ran a hand through his hair and grit his teeth. Fuck, this really wasn’t what he needed right now. He needed…drugs. Alcohol. Anything to make him forget. Anything to take these stupid feelings away and give him that thrill instead.

…

“Hel-lo!”

“Fuckin— shit!” He shrieked, whipping backwards and tripping over himself in the process. Alastor stood there, towering over Angel in all his smug glory, grinning metaphorical ear-to-ear like he was snickering at some joke Angel wasn’t in on. And it pissed him the  _ fuck _ off. He didn’t give a shit if he and the radio whackjob usually got along (kind of); he was in a bad mood, and if Alastor didn’t quit fucking staring at him like he was some big joke, Angel was going to  _ make _ that his problem. “The fuck’s your deal, you little freak?!”

“My apologies, darling! I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Alastor had the gall to bend over, offering the fallen spider a hand. “Are you alright?”

“Do I  _ look _ like—” Angel began to cuss him out, then felt the telltale throb of a headache coming on and decided this goddamn clown just wasn’t worth the effort. He batted Alastor’s hand away from his face and pulled himself to his feet. “I’m  _ fine, _ piss-teeth. Now whaddya want?”

“You!” The deer demon responded almost instantly. Angel, after a split second of speechlessness, allowed himself a good chuckle at Alastor’s expense as he rushed to rephrase his sentence. “A-and by ‘you’ I mean a moment of your time, my dear friend!”

“Well, ya fuckin’ got it, I guess.” Angel huffed, one pair of arms planted on his hips and the other crossed over his chest. “You gonna sit here and ogle me or you gonna do somethin’ actually interesting for once?” He snapped.

“Ohoho! Angel, my dear, you wound me! To think you would treat me this way after I came all the way up here to visit you?!  _ Shame on you!”  _ Alastor exclaimed, clutching his chest with one hand in mock-hurt. But Angel didn’t give a shit about that; what he  _ did _ give a shit about was the tall, shiny bottle of champagne the shorter demon had in his other hand. Instantly, his eyes lit up.  _ New Years alcohol! Just what he needed! _

Noticing the thirsty gleam in Angel’s mismatched eyes, Alastor chuckled, holding the liquid heaven just out of reach. “Not so fast, sweetheart!” With a wave of the hand, two champagne flutes were pulled forth from thin air and set down on the small balcony table. “Let’s have a seat, hmm?”

Previous foul mood forgotten, Angel snatched up his glass the moment it was filled and downed it as quickly as humanly (demon-ly?) possible while his red-clad companion looked on in amusement. After his first five glasses, Angel felt the painful throbbing in his skull begin to recede, replaced by a pleasant, hazy fog. A sense of numbness.

He slammed his flute down, nearly knocking the uncorked bottle over in the process. The Radio Demon glanced over, not as wobbly but certainly tipsy himself. “Hahaha! Having fun, I see!”

“What’s wit’ the drinkin’ party, Smiles?” Angel questioned after a moment of thoughtful silence, swaying in his seat a bit. “D’ya usually get this freaky on New Years, or what?”

“I suppose not.” The other mused quietly. An eyebrow raised, Angel turned to stare at him. “You’ve been acting…different lately, dear. Did you think I hadn’t noticed?” Beneath the table, one slender leg crossed itself over the other. “You’re…ah, what’s the word- restless? Agitated? Keyed-up?” He rambled - clearly more drunk than Angel had pegged him for at first. “In any case! It was obvious to a  _ waterfall of empathy _ such as myself-” The spider let out an undignified snort. “-that since this tortu— ah,  _ rehabilitation _ process has begun, you simply haven’t been your jolly old self! And what better way to remedy that than with some good old giggle juice!” Alastor threw his head back and laughed a bit louder than normal. “Think of it as a late Christmas Gift!”

Angel blinked. Once, twice, three times. Maybe it was the alcohol after weeks of abstinence, maybe it was the stupid fucking smile that never left Mr. Dollar Store Hannibal’s face, he didn’t know what it was; what he did know was that he felt…giddy. Light. He’d dare say he was  _ happy, _ even. Eugh, he was  _ feeling _ things? Clearly drinking hadn’t been such a great idea after all; but Hell, it wasn’t like Angel cared now. He was happy, and that was all that mattered, and it was so ridiculous that he was  _ laughing. _ He doubled over and  _ cackled, _ like he’d just been told the funniest joke he’d heard in a million years.

“And what are you laughing about? Hm?” Alastor asked, but Angel heard him laughing too. He supposed his drunken laughter was contagious. So there the two of them sat; full of a shared bottle of champagne, cackling into the dark morning sky like a pair of idiots.  _ Well shit, _ Angel thought to himself.  _ If I’m an idiot, I’m his idiot. _ Through small tears of mirth, he looked across the table at Alastor, who was still laughing like it was going out of style. His face flushed and alcohol spilled on his suit like a dolt.  _ And if he’s an idiot, he’s mine, dammit. _

A few more moments passed, and Angel wiped the tears from his eyes. Against his will, he was smiling; grinning so widely his face was starting to hurt. Angel looked over at Alastor again and fought back another wave of laughter. “H-hey. Alastor.” He piped up. “Thanks, babe.” Shakily, he raised his (empty) glass, as if silently proposing a toast.

The deer demon made a sound of confusion; not quite a hm and too giggly to be a huh. “Whatever for, my friend?”

The spider rolled his eyes. “I dunno, man. The alcohol? Yer stupid jokes? Hell, just bein’ here? Whaddya want from me?” He groaned, slumping his head against the table with a bang. “Ya expect me to be good with this feelin’ bullshit when I’m fuckin’ buzzed like this?”

The clink of glass against glass made Angel raise his head. Alastor gazed down at him, his smile just a touch more gentle.

“You’re welcome, Angel.”


End file.
